Concrete Angel
by Riana Mustang
Summary: Rating may go up later, I don't know yet. Rehteah Lumarin is an outcast among the Jedi because of her black wings. The only one who really cares about her is Qui-Gon. She finds out that she is part of an ancient prophecy whilst on a dangerous mission...ma


Concrete Angel  
Author: Celestia Vitaria  
Disclaimer: I don't own Star Wars. Any original characters belong to me. I don't get paid, you don't sue, got it?  
Summary: Rehteah Lumarin is an outcast among the Jedi because of her black wings. The only one who really cares about her is Qui-Gon. She finds out that she is part of an ancient prophecy whilst on a dangerous mission...majorly A/U to my "Test of Faith" fic...  
A/N: I forget what the name of the fic was that I saw about Obi kinda having this same problem, *with the black wings, anyway* but I got the inspiration from that, the song "Concrete Angel" by Martina McBride, and my own foul mood when I started writing this. Please have mercy and don't flame me. Oh, and if anyone has any idea what the name of the fic with obi in it when he has the black wings and who wrote it, let me know so I can put it on here. *not the fic, but the title/author of it*  
Feedback: YES! I live for it! It's a writer's best friend.  
Archive: If you want it, leave a review and ask, and leave the site addy so I know where it's going, ok? Although I don't know why anyone would want this.  
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"She who is of the light  
With wings of the blackest night  
Will come to pass judgement on those who would persecute her  
She is the Chosen One  
The Concrete Angel"  
  
  
  
*Black-Wing*.  
  
Rehteah sighed miserably. The name Black-Wing echoed in her mind, haunting her. It was the curse of her existance, to be hated and feared, even by the Jedi, because of what she was.   
  
Sighing again, she pulled her knees up to her chest, wrapping her arms around her legs. She looked around the deserted garden, trying to find some peace in the beauty surrounding her, but it was no use. She only felt even more out of place here than she usually did. She gave up after a few minutes and wrapped her wings around her like a protective shield, buried her head in her arms and cried.  
  
Suddenly she sensed someone approach her. She tried to shield her Force-presence, hoping desperately against all hope that whoever it was either wouldn't notice her sitting there, or that they would just keep on walking and leave her alone with her thoughts.  
  
But she knew that was impossible. Her black wings made it impossible for her to remain unnoticed, and nobody ever left her alone, especially if they thought that the perfect opportunity to torment her had presented itself to them.  
  
Just then, she felt someone gently lay their hand on one of her wings. She gasped, still hiding behind her onyx shield as her entire body went totally rigid for a moment. Then she calmed down a bit, realizing who it was. There was only one person who ever did that, only one person who ever bothered to show her that much compassion and kindness.   
  
"Master?" she asked quietly through her tears, her voice barely audible as she unfurled her wings and looked up at the figure kneeling down in front of her, concern for her shimmering in his warm blue eyes.  
  
"Rehteah? Are you all right, little one?" Master Qui-Gon asked.  
  
Rehteah didn't answer. Instead she flew into his arms and buried her face in his chest as the sobs overtook her again. Qui-Gon wrapped his white wings around them both and held her protectively, whispering words of solace.  
  
After a few minutes, Qui-Gon pulled away slightly, intending to wipe away her tears, but he suddenly stopped short. He had seen the bruises on her face and the small trail of dried blood where it had trickled down her pale cheek from a cut just below her left eye that looked as though it had been made with a dagger.  
  
"Who did this to you?!" Qui-Gon demanded, outraged that one of the Jedi would resort to such an act of violence, especially on one of their own.   
  
Rehteah flinched, despite the fact that she knew his anger was not directed at her, but rather at the one who had harmed her. Silently she cursed at herself. She hadn't wanted him to see the horrendous marks on her face. She cast her eyes downward, suddenly finding the hem of her robe extremely interesting.  
  
"Nobody, Master," she whispered.  
  
"Padawan..." Qui-Gon said in a tone that brooked no room for argument.  
  
Rehteah sighed. She knew that tone of voice all too well, it seemed. "It was Torran, Master. He said that I was an abomination and that I would bring disgrace to the Order. He also...said that I...that I deserved to die. You know what truly hurts? He was right," she muttered, her voice faltering on the last part. "That was right before he did this." Rehteah gestured mournfully at the scars on her face.  
  
Qui-Gon was shocked, not only at what his apprentice had just told him, but also at the fact that she would even agree with the one who had hurt her. He cupped her chin in his hand gently and lifted her face to his until they were eye to eye. She tried to look away again, but he wouldn't let her.  
  
"No, Padawan. He was not. Don't ever say that again! You are more than that. You are a Jedi, regardless of what color your wings are, or what anyone else tells you. Do you understand?" he said sternly, but not unkindly. She nodded. "Come, we'll speak to the Council about this." Qui-Gon stood up and helped Rehteah to her feet.  
  
Rehteah sighed. "What's the point, Master? They won't do anything about it, except maybe reprimand him and send him on his merry way again," she whispered, barely audible, but Qui-Gon could still detect a note of weary bitterness in her voice as she spoke.  
  
"Why do you say that, little one?" Qui-Gon asked.  
  
"Don't you think I've noticed the way everyone stares at me, or that I've heard the comments that they make about me behind my back when they think I'm not around? Even the Council is afraid of me, Master, though they won't ever admit it. All because of these blasted wings! I wish I could just rip them off! I don't know why they even let me stay, much less be anyone's apprentice, I obviously don't belong here," she muttered bitterly, turning away from Qui-Gon and bowing her head so he wouldn't see the unshed tears shimmering in her eyes.  
  
Qui-Gon lay his hand gently on her shoulder as she started to wrap her wings around her like a shield again. Rehteah flinched, but did not pull away. She didn't turn around either, not wanting him to see just how deep her hurt truly ran.  
  
Instead she merely stood totally still, her whole body completely rigid. To Qui-Gon, she appeared as a concrete angel, bearing the burden of her own secret storm in silence.   
  
Finally he spoke, breaking the deafening silence that had inexplicably fallen in the air between them. "Come on, little one. Let's go get something for those bruises and get that cut cleaned up," he said quietly.  
  
Rehteah nodded, but gave no other indication that she had even heard him. She merely followed him inside, retreating even further within herself. Someone brushed past her in the corridor, speaking to her in hushed tones as they walked by.  
  
"Demon spawn," a familiar voice whispered softly in her ear.  
  
Rehteah stiffened and gasped, recognizing the voice instantly as belonging to Torran. It took everything she had not to run the rest of the way back to her and Qui-Gon's shared quarters. She glanced back at Torran and saw him give her a smile that unnerved her more than it did when he had no expression at all. She shivered involuntarily as she and her Master reached their apartment.  
  
Qui-Gon opened the door and they entered the apartment. Rehteah glanced back at him with haunted blue/gray eyes.  
  
"Go sit on the couch, Padawan. I'll be right back," he said.  
  
Rehteah nodded. "Yes, Master," she replied half-heartedly, and Qui-Gon disappeared into the bathroom as she sank down gracefully onto the couch.  
  
A few moments later, he came back into the common area holding a small basin filled with cool water, a cloth and a small container of bacta gel. He put the stuff down on the coffee table and knelt down in front of her with barely a sound, but the quiet rustling of cloth as he moved was enough to bring her out of the light meditative state that she had allowed herself to slip into.  
  
"This will sting a little, but if you hold still, it won't hurt quite as much," Qui-Gon said kindly, picking up the cloth and getting it wet.  
  
Rehteah hissed in pain as the cool fabric was pressed gently against her abused and battered skin, but she did not move. She let out a quiet whimper as the cloth touched the cut on her cheek, wiping away the traces of dried blood and cleaning the wound, but she made no other sound.  
  
  
  
TBC...I hope you like what I have so far. The plot bunny for this fic bit me from out of the blue and bit me hard, so blame it and my Muse for this. Like it, love it, hate it, don't know what to think of it, either way, let me know, but don't be too hard on me, ok? ::looks really pitiful::  
~*Celestia Vitaria*~ 


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